


there's no tomorrow (so let's live in the now)

by aegious



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Summer, can be read either platonic or romantic, for the i7 Four Seasons zine, the high school trio have one collective brain cell at any given moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22622437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aegious/pseuds/aegious
Summary: “I did it!” Tamaki exclaims with all the gumption of a four-year-old who’s just ridden his bike down the biggest hill in the neighborhood on a dare. He pushes himself up off the floor, his pants already collecting dirt from the arcade floor. He holds the three plushies in the air triumphantly, their seams bulging where he squeezes them in his large palms.“We did it,” Haruka corrects him, but he’s bouncing just slightly on the balls of his feet as he watches the King Pudding toys with hungry eyes. “You definitely wouldn’t have gotten those without my help.”“Isumin, we did it!” Tamaki corrects, turning the full force of his excitement toward Haruka. Iori is almost glad he’s been left out of this celebration because he doesn’t think he could withstand the brunt of Tamaki’s brightness.Haruka puffs out his chest and smirks, his eyes sparkling with unbridled pride.“Congratulations,” Iori says smoothly, trying not to let his lingering excitement show. “Can we go now?”The high school trio have a summer outing.
Relationships: Isumi Haruka & Izumi Iori & Yotsuba Tamaki
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	there's no tomorrow (so let's live in the now)

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! this is the fic i wrote for the [Four Seasons](https://twitter.com/4seasons_i7) zine! i'm grateful for this opportunity since it was the first zine i ever participated in orz
> 
> thanks to all the mods who helped to give me this chance, and my collaboration artist [puru](https://twitter.com/puruling) who drew such beautiful art for my fic!!!!! i'm truly grateful :")

“Just one more,” Tamaki had said about an hour and three thousand yen ago. Iori’s wallet feels painfully lighter, and he can’t help but wonder how Tamaki swindled him out of his pocket change.

Haruka is leaning against the crane machine, trying his best to ignore the other two as he tap tap taps away at some rhythm game on his phone. Somehow he manages to keep time, despite the blinking lights and electronic beeping noises in the arcade all trying their best to throw him off.

“Yotsuba-san,” Iori prods gently, stepping just a hair closer to him so that his hip bumps into the machine and he can feel the heat rolling off of Tamaki in waves, “it’s been an hour.”

“Just one more,” Tamaki repeats for what’s now the thirtieth time, and Iori has the sneaking suspicion that “just one more” actually means “let me keep playing indefinitely.”

“You keep saying that.” Haruka doesn’t look up from his phone, but he does grimace when one of the notes slides by him before he can tap it, ruining his combo. “When are you gonna be done?”

“I haven’t gotten it yet!” Tamaki practically whines. He lolls his head to the side until he’s vaguely facing Iori again, his eyes big and wide in a puppy dog expression Iori can’t ignore no matter how much he wants to. “Iorin—”

“No.” He holds his hand up. “I don’t have any more.”

Tamaki turns fully around this time, leaning his hip onto the machine. “I just need a hundred yen. I’m gonna get it this time.”

“You don’t know that.”

Haruka groans and slides down the side of the machine, his hair catching on the glass casing and clinging in the most unattractive way possible. “I lost. Again.”

“Join the club,” Tamaki mutters, his entire face wrinkling with his pout. “Come on, Iorin, _please?”_

Iori crosses his arms over his chest and turns his head, determined to withstand Tamaki’s sudden obsession with this particular crane game. “No.”

Haruka’s deep sigh breaks Iori’s concentration, though, and when he looks over he sees him fishing in his pockets for whatever money Tamaki hasn’t already taken from him. “One more, then I wanna leave.”

Tamaki’s face splits into a wide grin and he swipes the one hundred yen coin out of Haruka’s hand with a triumphant whoop. “I love you, Isumin!”

Iori thinks he catches a faint dusting of pink across Haruka’s cheeks before his hair falls into his face. “Just play the stupid game.”

He sounds much less interested in it than he acts, if the way he stays pressed up against the glass is any indication. Iori stays carefully behind them both to make good on his promise to himself not to get too invested in a machine game that operates entirely on luck. It’s a waste of time, completely not worth it, but…

But Tamaki’s nose is pressed against the glass, and Haruka is trying and failing to ignore this final attempt, and it’s almost endearing to watch them hype themselves up over this silly kid’s game in their own unique ways.

He takes a step closer as the crane begins to move.

“Go right,” Haruka instructs, tapping his finger against the glass repeatedly. “Just a little bit.”

Tamaki obeys and lightly hits his fingers against the joystick. The crane moves a centimeter to the right, the claw swinging wildly with the sudden movement. “Back more?”

“Bring it forward,” Iori says, his tone much softer and less demanding than Haruka’s, but still firm and confident. He tells himself that if Tamaki wins this prize he’s after, he’ll be placated and won’t complain afterwards. It’s a completely logical and rational decision to help him win.

“Not back?” Tamaki confirms even as he nudges the crane toward the front of the machine.

Haruka shakes his head, leaning around the side of the machine to get a better vantage point. “Yeah, keep going forward.”

The electronic music of the machine steadily picks up its pace as the timer runs out, but Tamaki pointedly ignores it, poking his tongue out and narrowing his eyes as he carefully adjusts the claw over the little King Pudding plushie laying face down on the colorful pebble bed that lines the bottom. He breathes in and out again, his chest moving noticeably, and taps at the joystick again.

“Back more,” Iori instructs, stepping around Haruka to get a better view of the side.

Haruka groans under his breath. “You’re so close…”

“It’s gonna be this time,” Tamaki assures them, but his voice sounds distant as he maintains focus on the crane.

The timer seems to have gone on much longer than it actually has when Tamaki finally mashes the big red button on top of the joystick. Iori’s chest clenches as he watches the claw descend toward the rock bed and the King Pudding plushie, carefully wedged between two others in just the right position that makes it perfect for grabbing.

The claw digs into the rocks and closes around the pile of plushies, still falling slack along the bottom before slowly rising up again. Haruka’s knuckles are white as he grips the side of the machine, and Iori holds his breath as he watches the crane tug at the plushies.

All three of them are lifted with the claw, and Tamaki audibly gasps, somehow pressing his face further into the glass. “Isumin! Iorin! Look, look!”

Haruka breathes out slowly, clearly trying not to work himself up too much but still paying far too much attention to each swing of the claw to be convincing.

Iori doesn’t try to pretend that he’s not interested in the results. It’s rare to get so many prizes from a crane machine, especially after a fruitless hour of trying, and so he keeps a close eye on the crane and on Tamaki, as if he were a specimen Iori was examining under a microscope. Or perhaps, if he were just his best friend about to win three prizes from one attempt of a crane game.

“There’s no way,” Haruka scoffs, but his hands slide along the glass as he follows the crane, squeaking loudly enough that Iori cringes. “You can’t just win three prizes in one try.”

Iori sucks in a sharp breath and watches, eyes glued to the black claw like it somehow decided his fate. One of the plushies slip but still hold within the feeble grip of the crane, and Iori feels his heart drop with sudden panic.

He doesn’t understand why he’s letting himself get so worked up over this. There’s no point to it, but still he’s swept along by the adrenaline and the atmosphere, by his two friends who squirm with anticipation over a silly toy game. He reasons with himself that anyone would be affected, especially after so much work has gone into getting one of these cheaply made pudding toys.

By the time the crane is hovering over the dropbox, Tamaki is practically screaming, yelling into the glass so that it fogs over. Iori doubts that he can even _see_ the toys falling into the hole over the haze he’s created, and still he shouts his stunned laughter as he drops to the floor, crawling on his hands and knees toward the metal flap that separates him from his prize.

Haruka bends down too, so low that he looks like he might snap in half. His hair is sweaty, plastered to his face, and whatever free strands have managed to escape that disgusting face are floating around his head from the remnants of static electricity.

The energy around them is palpable, and Iori wipes his own sweaty brow and tries to slow his pounding heart. It’s just a game, and yet—it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like so much more.

“I did it!” Tamaki exclaims with all the gumption of a four-year-old who’s just ridden his bike down the biggest hill in the neighborhood on a dare. He pushes himself up off the floor, his pants already collecting dirt from the arcade floor. He holds the three plushies in the air triumphantly, their seams bulging where he squeezes them in his large palms.

“We did it,” Haruka corrects him, but he’s bouncing just slightly on the balls of his feet as he watches the King Pudding toys with hungry eyes. “You definitely wouldn’t have gotten those without my help.”

“Isumin, we did it!” Tamaki corrects, turning the full force of his excitement toward Haruka. Iori is almost glad he’s been left out of this celebration because he doesn’t think he could withstand the brunt of Tamaki’s brightness.

Haruka puffs out his chest and smirks, his eyes sparkling with unbridled pride.

“Congratulations,” Iori says smoothly, trying not to let his lingering excitement show. “Can we go now?”

Haruka coughs into his fist and hugs his arms close to his chest, his face flushing not just from the heat. “Y–yeah, let’s get out of here. It’s too hot anyway.”

Tamaki breathes out a knowing chuckle, his wide grin never dropping an inch. “Sure, I won anyway.”

Finally, they can get out of here. Iori feels the uncomfortable trickle of sweat tickling his back as it slides down his spine, his button-up thoroughly soaked through. If he complains, Tamaki will just chastise him again about how he shouldn’t dress so stiffly in the middle of summer, and being scolded by Tamaki is literally the worst fate he can imagine.

He keeps his mouth firmly shut.

Tamaki leans down and carefully sets one of the plushies onto Haruka’s head before either of them can figure out what he’s doing. Haruka jerks in surprise, and the toy easily rolls off his head and into his open hands, staring up at the ceiling with lifeless eyes.

“What are you doing?” Haruka seethes, though he doesn’t actually sound angry.

Tamaki’s smile crinkles his eyes. “It’s cute.”

“Yotsuba-san, are you just stalling—?” Iori cuts off when Tamaki drops a second toy onto his head, fixing it so that it doesn’t fall off so easily this time. Iori stays perfectly still, all the while wondering _why_ he’s staying still when being manhandled like this is so embarrassing, a total breach of privacy, completely childish—

“He looks like he’s hugging you, Iorin,” Tamaki snickers, and there’s a sudden clench in Iori’s stomach that makes him forget his previous train of thought. He wants to see what it looks like, exactly how Tamaki placed it to make the toy look like that.

“Wait,” Haruka interrupts. He refuses to meet their eyes, his lower lip poking out in a tiny pout. “Mine fell off, you know.”

Tamaki grins and snatches the pudding out of his hands, setting it back on Haruka’s head as if he were a master artist arranging a sculpture.

When he’s satisfied, Tamaki nods and places the final toy on his own head, spinning around on his heel and whipping out his phone from his back pocket. He throws up a peace sign and Iori barely has time to plaster on a smile before he opens the camera app and snaps the photo. “Peace—!”

“Make sure it doesn’t look bad,” Haruka demands, already making grabby hands at the phone. Tamaki hands it over, and Haruka swipes through the dozens of apps cluttering the home screen until he finds Meitu and taps on it. Iori can’t see Haruka’s process outside of his furious tapping, and then it’s over and he flips the phone around to show off his creation with a smirk.

There are almost too many stickers littering the background, flowers and rainbows framing their faces and the three identical puddings atop their heads. Haruka must have thought it would be cute to put cat ears and whiskers on them, because each face has neon doodles in their signature colors on their artificially smoothed faces, tiny matching stickers placed on each toy.

It’s cute. It’s really cute. It’s so, so cute, and Iori knows that if he keeps looking at it he’ll completely blow his cover or maybe just keel over from the sheer power of how cute it is.

Tamaki snickers. “I’m gonna upload this to SNS.”

“Wait, no.” Haruka clutches Tamaki’s phone against his chest, well out of reach. “Torao will make fun of me if he sees this.”

“He’ll think you’re cute,” Tamaki counters and grabs at the phone. They knock into each other, and the pudding toys are sent toppling off their heads and onto the floor, bouncing once, then again, and rolling until they bump against Iori’s shoes.

Haruka snorts and reaches up to smooth out his hair. “He’s definitely gonna make fun of me, so don’t do it.”

Tamaki rolls his eyes, dramatic and not serious in the slightest, and places his fist against his heart. “I swear I won’t do anything that’ll make Isumin get teased.”

Haruka clearly doesn’t believe him, and Iori doesn’t either, not when they both know his childish playfulness too well, but he reluctantly hands over the phone and bends down to pick up the plushies.

“Hah!” Tamaki exclaims, holding the phone high enough that neither of them could reach it even by jumping. “Now everyone’ll see how cute we are.”

Haruka curses under his breath, and Iori’s cheeks bloom with fierce heat. “I knew I shouldn’t trust you with anything!”

Iori watches the screen, tilted at an odd angle in Tamaki’s grip, as the loading bar indicates that the photo has been uploaded to social media. He knows full well that Mitsuki will never let him live this down once he sees. Yamato and Riku, too, probably.

And still he did nothing to stop him.

He also can’t find it in himself to regret his inaction.

Haruka groans loudly and petulantly like a child denied dessert and weakly punches Tamaki in his side. “You owe me big time for this, Yotsuba.”

“Anything you want, Isumin,” Tamaki coos. He takes one of the King Puddings out of Haruka’s hands and holds it in front of his face, a cheesy grin melting any tension left between them.

“I want cake,” Haruka demands, crossing his arms over his chest. His pudding dangles by its ball chain off of one of his fingers, swinging freely.

“Mmm,” Tamaki hums. “Iorin, let’s get cake.”

Iori raises an eyebrow. “Why are you asking me?”

“Take us to your fancy bakery!” Tamaki shoves his toy in Iori’s face, accidentally knocking the plushie out of Iori’s hair and onto the floor. He’d almost forgotten it was still buried there.

Haruka picks that one up, too, and nods along with Tamaki’s suggestion. “Isn’t it close by?”

“There are other bakeries closer…” Iori tries, but he knows that they’re both already set on going to Fonte Chocolat. If anything, Tamaki just wants to be pampered by his parents again, maybe get another free dessert even if it’s a terrible business practice to give away the pastries they work so hard on.

And just as Iori predicted, Tamaki’s eyes get big and he sticks out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “Come on, Iorin,” he whines, holding his plushie against his cheek as if King Pudding could even join him in his attempts to persuade Iori.

But, well, it’s really cute. He chews hard at the inside of his lip as he tries to resist the combination attack from Tamaki’s puppy dog eyes and the King Pudding plushie.

“Fine.”

Tamaki throws his arms up and lets out a loud whoop, causing nearby patrons of the arcade to turn toward them.

Iori imagines he perfectly matches Haruka’s shade of pink.

“Here,” Haruka says, shoving the pudding in Iori’s face. He lets it go and it falls into Iori’s waiting hands, the fabric soft against his skin. “It’s yours. I’m not carrying it.”

He clenches his jaw to keep himself from saying that he wouldn’t want anyone else to hold it, anyway. If it’s his, then he would rather hug it close to him. Not that he can say that out loud because that would just be embarrassing.

Tamaki’s stomach grumbles. “Ah—I’m hungry.”

“Pastries aren’t supposed to supplement a meal, Yotsuba-san,” Iori chides, but Tamaki waves him off with a hand.

“If I get three pastries, it’s just like eating a full meal, right? So it’s fine.”

“That’s not how it works,” Haruka scoffs, but he doesn’t look opposed to the idea himself.

The automatic door slides open with the creak of metal scraping against metal, the door having long since fallen off its tracks, and they’re greeted with a burst of stifling summer heat. It reeks of hot pavement and burning metal from nearby buildings, but somehow it’s not unpleasant.

Despite the synthetic fabric making him sweat, Iori holds the plushie closer to him.

Outside, the air is fresh and warm, nothing like the oppressive atmosphere of the arcade with artificial heat from overworked machines pressing down on them. It’s lighter, and the small decorative trees that line the sidewalks rustle in the breeze that brushes past them, carrying them along their path.

Fonte Chocolat is only a block away, even if Iori hadn’t been lying before. There is another bakery directly across the street from the arcade, but it’s definitely more nondescript than Iori’s family shop. They’d built up their consumer base for decades before that bakery ever took root in the city.

He wonders how their food holds up to Fonte Chocolat, if they’re even worthy opponents or not. It doesn’t matter, though, not right now when Tamaki and Haruka are bickering idly and playing with their new stuffed toys like overexcitable children.

He feels the same, with his own toy tucked under his chin. Haruka and Tamaki are kind enough not to point this out, however, perhaps because they would be hypocrites if they did.

“Ah!” Tamaki stops short, and Iori nearly runs into him. “There it is!”

He follows the direction Tamaki is pointing, King Pudding hanging off of his wrist like a beacon, and sees the store sign reading Fonte Chocolat in fancy, curly letters. It’s his mom’s handwriting, evidenced on the cakes she decorates. A nice touch of personalization, in Iori’s opinion.

Tamaki kicks off the ground in a burst of speed, somehow so alive even in this heat that drags Iori’s weary body down, makes him feel heavy despite the breeze doing all it can to cool him off. “Come on, come on!”

He spins around so that he’s jogging backward, and Iori groans and picks up his speed, chasing after him. Even Haruka looks eager to get there, his steps getting faster until he’s far surpassed Iori and is closing in on Tamaki.

It is tempting, he thinks, because the bakery holds a promise of cool air and good food and chairs to sit in and catch the breath he lost the moment he stepped into the arcade almost two hours ago. Before he knows it, his walk has turned into a jog, his hair whipping at his face with every bounce of his step.

Tamaki holds the door open for both of them with his back, his hands on his knees as he bends over, panting. “Too slow. I won.”

“I wasn’t racing you.” Haruka turns his nose up at him, but his lips are pursed and he looks almost frustrated at the prospect of losing a race he didn’t even know about.

Just as he predicted, there’s a blast of cool air against Iori’s face as he enters his family’s shop, and he relaxes now that the summer sun is no longer beating down on him mercilessly. It’s like coming home after a long, tiring day; maybe it is that, given his company.

Tamaki and Haruka are already at the counter, noses pressed against the recently cleaned glass as they browse the cakes and pastries. Iori rolls his eyes, knowing his parents will have to clean it again by the time these two leave.

“Isumin, what are you getting?” Tamaki’s breath condensates along the glass and fogs it up so that he can’t possibly see what’s in front of him. He doesn’t seem to mind that.

Haruka hums thoughtfully. “I can’t decide. Izumi, what’s the best thing here?”

Iori clears his throat and straightens his shirt, running through the menu that he’s long since memorized even if he hardly ever helps out here. “The tiramisu is the best in the city, but our specialty is the orange chiffon cake. The religieuses are excellent, as well.”

Iori avoids the knowing gaze from the part-time worker—Yumi, he recalls—as she watches from behind the counter.

“Hey miss.” Tamaki finally tears away from the glass case and turns to her. “I want a King Pudding crème brûlée.”

“Right away!” She responds, punching some buttons on the cash register before shuffling to the side to open the case.

“I want a mille-feuille,” Haruka says, voice trailing off the longer he speaks. He peeks back at the spread. “And the orange chiffon cake.”

“Two?” Iori exclaims, almost dropping his plushie. Haruka turns to hide his face, but not before he sees his lips poke out in a pout.

Yumi peers at him for a moment before she cuts a slice of the cake. “Is that all for you?”

Tamaki and Haruka glance behind them. Iori shakes his head. “I’m not having anything.”

“Eh? Why not, Iorin?” Tamaki holds up his King Pudding, shoving it in Iori’s face. “Don’t you get a discount?”

Iori shoves the plushie out of the way. “I’m not particularly hungry, so I don’t want to have my parents make extra food only for me to not finish it.”

Tamaki ruffles his brow but drops the plushie to his side and spins back around, digging in his pocket for his wallet. He picks out a few bills and hands them over to Yumi with a flourish, showing off the mere fact that he has money.

Of course they have money, Iori wants to say. They’re one of Japan’s top idols.

He holds his tongue while Haruka pays, and the cash is exchanged for three small, white plates, perfectly pristine with the desserts perched on top. Haruka stuffs his plushie unceremoniously under his arm so he can balance both of his, but Tamaki sets his down on the counter, searching again through his pockets.

There’s a lemon macaroon on the plate next to the crème brûlée, little chocolate creme eyes and a mouth depicting King Pudding. A special treat added to the menu only after Tamaki started coming by regularly.

Tamaki pulls his hand from his pocket as if he’s brandishing a sword, and clamped tightly in his fist is a tiny spoon. Iori barely has time to react to this development before Tamaki digs it into the dish and takes a bite, completely disregarding the growing crowd behind them and the cashier’s horrified look.

Iori puts his head in his hands.

“Yotsuba-san, please wait until we sit down,” he tries, placing his head in his hands.

“Don’t wanna,” Tamaki responds, words garbled by the presence of goo in his mouth.

Iori grimaces and grabs onto his wrist. “Come on, you’re holding up the line.” He pulls him across the restaurant, ignoring Tamaki’s indignant protest and Haruka’s startled yelp as he scurries along behind them.

“Don’t just leave me in a crowd like that!” Haruka hisses, his shoes tapping along the tiled floor in a quick rhythm as he tries to catch up.

“Iorin’s just being himself.” Tamaki shrugs and relaxes his arm in Iori’s grip, finally letting himself be dragged along willingly.

Iori rolls his eyes as he slows to a stop in front of a table off to the side of the restaurant. It’s quiet and secluded; no one will notice them here, and they won’t have to be as careful about protecting their identities. They won’t cause any trouble for his family.

“You can barely see out the window,” Haruka grumbles as he slides into one of the chairs across from them. “But it’s not that bad, I guess.”

“If you can’t see out the window, then no one can see us, either,” Iori reasons. He finally releases Tamaki and takes his own seat. Tamaki mimics the motion more slowly and carelessly, plopping into the seat without thought and almost dropping his macaroon in the process. He barely notices.

“I don’t want anyone annoying us while I eat, anyway.” Tamaki nods and adjusts the macaroon carefully, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates. “Iorin, gimme your phone. I wanna take a picture.”

Iori shakes his head forcefully. “Use your own phone.”

“But then I can’t upload it to your profile.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Iori frowns, but he finds himself already digging through his pockets for his phone.

“You didn’t get anything, so you don’t have anything to show,” Tamaki says, leaning in a little too closely for Iori’s comfort. “So you can share mine.”

“I don’t need to upload anything at all,” Iori insists. He drops his phone into Tamaki’s hand.

“That takes all the fun out of it,” Haruka insists, already snapping pictures of his cake. “What’s the point of going to a café?”

“To eat?” Iori guesses.

Haruka gestures vaguely to the empty space in front of Iori. “You’re not even eating.”

He looks away and huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s beside the point. I came here for you two, after all.”

“You’re boring.” Tamaki pulls himself out of his seat and positions himself with Iori’s phone facing all three of them, turning the screen back and forth slightly until all of the sweets are framed nicely in the shot. He throws up a peace sign, and Iori can see his wide, cheesy grin reflected on his phone screen.

Iori barely has time to copy the pose before Tamaki taps the phone and takes the picture. His smile is forced and unprepared, and he’s sure it’ll look terrible in the picture that Tamaki will inevitably upload anyway.

Tamaki beams as he shoves the phone back into Iori’s hands, displaying the picture as if it’s a work of art the likes of Rembrandt couldn’t reproduce. “Look, even Isumin is having fun.”

“Shut up.” Haruka fiddles with a fork and avoids their gazes, but when Iori looks back at the photo he notes that he does, in fact, look like he’s having fun. His cocky grin crinkles his eyes and he holds a peace sign at the level of his eye. Iori can definitely see his charm.

Even he doesn’t look bad, even if his cheeks are still flushed from the summer heat and his smile is too forced and unnatural. Completely unbefitting of an idol. He doesn’t have the energy to fight it, though. He knows this is the photo that will end up on SNS, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“It’s acceptable,” he says instead, nodding once. “Now sit down and eat the dessert you just bought.”

Tamaki ignores him. “See what I mean, Isumin? He’s totally boring.”

Haruka nods, already swallowing a large bite of his cake. “Definitely.”

Iori doesn’t deign them with a response, but he does clear his throat and shift his attention away—to the mille-feuille that sits half-eaten next to Haruka’s cake.

Tamaki’s elbows land hard on the table. “Iorin, you’re staring.”

“I am not.”

Haruka snorts. “You want some, don’t you.” It’s not a question.

“He does.” Tamaki stabs the pastry with his fork before Iori can protest. He wags it in front of his face, tempting and goading.

“I don’t want that,” Iori insists, backing away from it.

Tamaki begins blowing raspberries, mimicking an airplane as he drives the fork through the air toward Iori’s mouth. “Here comes the airplane, Iorin! Open wide!”

“You’re so childish.” Iori rolls his eyes, but the mille-feuille is coming closer and he can’t help but instinctively open his mouth just before it reaches him.

It’s delicious, as expected. It’s his parents’ recipe after all. Tamaki lets the fork hang out of Iori’s mouth for a few moments, his head propped up on his arm, smirking triumphantly. Haruka’s eyebrows are lifted in faint amusement as he watches the spectacle, somehow not even caring that Tamaki stole his dessert and fed it to Iori.

“It’s good, right?” Haruka asks, his cheeks stuffed with chiffon cake.

Iori nods, and Tamaki finally slides the fork out of his mouth. “Of course it is. My parents made it.”

Tamaki snickers and takes another bite of his crème brûlée. He always saves the macaroon for last and so it sits on the plate, staring blankly up at them. “Where are we going after this, Isumin?”

“After this?” Iori repeats incredulously, running a hand through his hair. He can still taste the mille-feuille on his tongue. “Do you two ever slow down?”

Haruka ignores him. “The park has a cotton candy booth set up.”

Iori presses his hands to his face, not sure how he’s supposed to keep up with them. And yet somehow he does, because they keep going and he keeps following, even in the stifling summer heat.

The chilled air in Fonte Chocolat freezes the sweat that trickles down his back and as Tamaki and Haruka discuss their plans, they don’t even ask for Iori’s opinion on the matter.

Because they know that even if he complains, he’ll keep following them.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/aegious)!
> 
> [here's a link to puru's art!!](https://twitter.com/puruling/status/1226310121757630464?s=20) please support her, she's immensely talented!!


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